MARGERY. Very like, my lady, but most on 'em know an honest woman and a lady when they see her, and besides they say, she makes songs, and that's against her, for I never knew an honest woman that could make songs, tho' to be sure our mother 'ill sing me old songs by the hour, but then, God help her, she had 'em from her mother, and her mother from her mother back and back for ever so long, but none on 'em ever made songs, and they were all honest. ROSAMUND. Go, you shall tell me of her some other time. MARGERY. There's none so much to tell on her, my lady, only she kept the seventh commandment better than some I know on, or I couldn't look your ladyship i' the face, and she brew'd the best ale in all Glo'ster, that is to say in her time when she had the 'Crown.' ROSAMUND. The crown! who? MARGERY. Mother. ROSAMUND. I mean her whom you call--fancy--my husband's brother's wife. MARGERY. Oh, Queen Eleanor. Yes, my lady; and tho' I be sworn not to speak a word, I can tell you all about her, if---- ROSAMUND. No word now. I am faint and sleepy. Leave me. Nay--go. What! will you anger me. [_Exit_ MARGERY. He charged me not to question any of those About me. Have I? no! she question'd _me_. Did she not slander _him_? Should she stay here? May she not tempt me, being at my side, To question _her_? Nay, can I send her hence Without his kingly leave! I am in the dark. I have lived, poor bird, from cage to cage, and known Nothing but him--happy to know no more, So that he loved me--and he loves me--yes, And bound me by his love to secrecy Till his own time. Eleanor, Eleanor, have I Not heard ill things of her in France? Oh, she's The Queen of France. I see it--some confusion, Some strange mistake. I did not hear aright, Myself confused with parting from the King. MARGERY (_behind scene_). Bee mustn't buzz, Whoop--but he knows. ROSAMUND. Yet her--what her? he hinted of some her-- When he was here before-- Something that would displease me. Hath he stray'd From love's clear path into the common bush, And, being scratch'd, returns to his true rose, Who hath not thorn enough to prick him for it, Ev'n with a word? MARGERY (_behind scene_). Bird mustn't tell, Whoop--he can see. ROSAMUND. I would not hear him. Nay--there's more--he frown'd 'No mate for her, if it should come to that'-- To that--to what? MARGERY (_behind scene_). Whoop--but he knows, Whoop--but he knows. ROSAMUND. O God! some dreadful truth is breaking on me-- Some dreadful thing is coming on me. [_Enter_ GEOFFREY. Geoffrey! GEOFFREY. What are you crying for, when the sun shines? ROSAMUND. Hath not thy father left us to ourselves? GEOFFREY. Ay, but he's taken the rain with him. I hear Margery: I'll go play with her. [_Exit_ GEOFFREY. ROSAMUND.